


Duets For One

by mydogwatson



Series: WHILE THE MUSIC LASTS [13]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternative First Meeting, Gen, Spiders, Teen John, Teen Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-27 17:18:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/981566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydogwatson/pseuds/mydogwatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John meets Sherlock.  Some things never change.  And that is a good thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Duets For One

**Author's Note:**

> I did say I love alternative meetings. This is the second of the series, but not quite the last.  
> And, sadly, nothing has changed since I last mentioned it, so I still do not own Sherlock and John. Happily, I still own Watson the dog.

Feel like life has just begun.  
No more singing duets for one.  
-Elton John

 

In the end, the decision to leave was an easy one. There had been too much shouting. Too much violence. It had all worn him down and he thought that if he didn’t get out now then maybe he never would. Sentiment did not enter at all into the decision. If there had ever been any love in this place it had all vanished long ago.

So John Watson went to his room and threw some things into a duffel bag. He waited only until there were no more sounds coming from the sitting room and then went down the stairs and out the door with no more confrontation.

Then he was out into the chilly London night with no idea where to go or what to do next. For a long time, he simply walked, wondering what he had ever done to turn his life into such a mess. Honestly, he couldn’t think of a thing.

Almost by default, he ended up in Hyde Park, a destination which, since it was after hours, involved throwing the duffel over a fence and then climbing over after it. He found an isolated bench to stretch out on, using the duffel as a pillow.

A part of him wanted to just cry, because his life was such a piece of crap. But before he could even shed one tear, the exhaustion of the past few days [or maybe his whole life] caught up with him and he fell asleep.

 

“Have you ever considered the social interaction of the Crablike Spiny Orb Weaver?”

John was jerked awake by the voice, panic making him swing out both arms in a defensive measure born of long practice.

“Oh, good, you’re awake. I need you to hold the torch and turn it on exactly when I say. Timing is very important.”

John was still shaking from the adrenalin surge. “Who..who the fuck are you?” he finally managed to say, sitting up.  
“I already said.”

“I was sleeping.”

“Hardly my fault that you weren’t listening.”

John glared at the boy, who appeared to be about his own age---seventeen---or maybe a little younger. He was taller than John and much thinner, dressed in a long dark coat, blue jeans, and a button-down shirt in a dark green colour. He looked very pale in the moonlight and his hair was a riot of dark curls. Posh, very posh.

He sighed impatiently. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. My name is Sherlock Holmes.” Oh, yes, that exceedingly posh voice, which oddly made John think of melted dark chocolate, went with the rest of him. “And just to avoid any more boring social chitchat, you are John Watson.”

John felt his jaw drop. “How--?”

“Oh, please. There’s a luggage tag on your duffel.”

John felt as if his breathing had finally returned to normal. Then he frowned. “Why were you creeping around me?”

Sherlock Holmes [was there ever a posher, more ridiculous name?] gave a sigh that seemed to indicate how very patient he was being. “As I have already said,” he muttered, each word bitten off viciously, “I am conducting a study of the nocturnal habits of the Crablike Spiny Orb Weaver. I was certainly not ‘creeping’ around you. Why would I? It’s not as if you have anything worth stealing.”

Well, that was a bit harsh, but John couldn’t really argue with the truth of the statement, so he didn’t say anything.

“Now, if you’re quite ready?”

John felt like an idiot sometimes, but he’d never before felt so stupid. “Ready?”

“To hold the torch, of course! God, how do you function at all with such limited brain power?”

“Yes, right, that’s the way to get someone to help,” John pointed out drily. Then, not sure why, he held out his hand so Sherlock could slap the torch into it.

Sherlock smiled at him. “Excellent.”

They moved to the base of a large oak tree that sheltered the bench and crouched down. A large spider web reached from the tree to a neighboring shrub. “I am going to put this…” From somewhere Sherlock produced what looked like a dead spider. “---down right here.” He set the corpse carefully next to a small hole in the tree trunk. A small magnifying glass appeared next and John wondered just what else might reside in the pockets of that unbelievable coat. “When I say, switch the torch on immediately.”

“Okay,” John said, still having no idea of either what the hell Sherlock was doing or why he was actually helping.

It only took a couple of minutes before several big-bellied black spiders with yellow markings began to emerge from the hole in the tree and move toward the corpse. As the swarmed it, Sherlock whispered, “Now!”

John hit the switch and light flooded the area as if it were some kind of a crime scene. Sherlock bent over close to the ground, peering through the magnifying glass, watching the spiders avidly.

Having very little interest in spiders, John instead watched Sherlock and found himself absolutely fascinated by the expression of avid curiosity on the other boy’s face. Just watching him seemed to help ease the pain that John had been feeling for such a long time. That someone like Sherlock Holmes could exist made the world a less ugly place.

In a very short time, the spiders had disappeared back into the hole, amazingly taking the corpse with them. With a sigh, Sherlock sat back.

“Was that good?” John asked.

“It was fascinating.” Then Sherlock glanced at him. “And you did very well, John.”

John felt a small swell of pride in his chest.

Neither boy moved.

“Where are you going to go, John?” Sherlock asked finally.

“What?”

Sherlock pulled his legs up to his chest and looked at John, who felt…seen.  
He was so used to being ignored that it was quite startling to feel as if someone was actually seeing him.

The piercing gaze did not waver. “Well, you’ve run away, but I don’t think you have anywhere to go. No friends or family you feel comfortable going to.”

“How do you---oh, never mind.” Even on such short acquaintance, he somehow knew that an explanation would come anyway.

Sherlock was speaking quietly, with none of his earlier snark. “You’re in the park in the middle of the night. A rather chilly night. With a hurriedly packed bag.” He paused just for a moment, then unwound the scarf from around his neck and reached over to drape it around John. “Your jacket isn’t warm enough.”

John wanted to say something, but all he did was let the scarf warm him; it smelled of some expensive soap and, oddly, spices that he couldn’t identify.

“There is some mostly faded bruising around your left eye. And your right wrist has only recently healed from a twisting break. It wasn’t a great leap to realise that you decided tonight not to put up with the abuse any longer.”

John knew that his face was flushed red. “Jesus,” he muttered.

Sherlock shook his head. “There’s no need to be embarrassed,” he said firmly. “None of it was your fault, John. And I think it was very brave to decide to leave.”

Before John could think of what to say next, the silence was shattered by a loud shout. “Oi, what are you two doing in here?”

They both looked toward the road and saw the police patrol.

“Run,” Sherlock said urgently.

John grabbed his duffel and took off after him. Sherlock seemed to know where he was going, so this was probably not the first time something like this had happened. The sound of their middle-aged pursuer soon faded, but they kept running until suddenly Sherlock pulled to a stop next to an almost hidden door in the wall. He opened it with no trouble and they were through, standing on the pavement just outside the park.

John leaned against the wall, gasping. One look at Sherlock’s face and he broke into the giggles. After a second of what seemed like bewilderment, Sherlock started laughing as well. “God,” John said. “That was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

“And you decided to run away without packing a change of pants,” Sherlock said.

John almost asked ‘how?’ again, but then he just grinned and shook his head. After a moment, he sobered, twisting one hand in the scarf around his neck. “I have an aunt in Brighton,” he said. “She would take me in.”

“Brighton?” Sherlock seemed to consider that and then gave a brisk nod. “That works,” he said.

“Works for what?”

“It’s only a short train ride away. For when I need your help again.”

“Might you?” John hoped he didn’t sound desperately eager, although truthfully he felt that way.

“Most definitely. I’ve needed a competent assistant for a very long time.” If the idea of a seventeen-year-old boy needing an assistant was slightly ridiculous, neither of them chose to mention it at the moment.

John ducked his head. “I could do that.”

“Of course you can.” Sherlock almost smiled. “Come home with me for tonight, though.”

John looked at him. “Your parents won’t mind?”

“Out of the country, as usual. There’s only my prat of a brother and he doesn’t care what I do, being so very busy himself.”

“What’s he do, then?”

Sherlock made a sound. “Oh, something very minor in the government. Although in five years or so, he’ll no doubt be running things. A frightening creature. But never mind him. Let’s go.”

“If you’re sure…”

“I’m always sure, John.”

“Hmmm,” John said in agreement. “All right. I’ll come.”

“Excellent. Got your breath back?”

“Ready when you are.” He hoisted the duffel again and they started walking slowly towards Knightsbridge. “So what was all that in aid of? With the spiders?”

Sherlock grinned at him and started to explain the experiment in greater than strictly necessary detail. Still John listened happily, nodding and occasionally responding with a sincere “Great” or “Brilliant” as they walked side by side through the London night.

**Author's Note:**

> I know absolutely nothing about the Crablike Spiny Orb Weaver except the name and appearance. Their social interaction [nocturnal or otherwise] remains a mystery to me.


End file.
